Side Story #1.2
The Warrior's Story (continued)
Knock, knock!
"It's time to do your job!"
The Warrior woke up with a jolt. Registering the voice to be the inn's owner, he calmed down. Looking out the window, the sky was still a shade of pink. Must be dawn.
He gets out of bed and, without thinking, opens the door.
"Now you're-blegh!" the owner gags. "What is that smell!?"
The stranger raises an eyebrow. Thinking about it, after killing demons for years on end without stopping never really gave him an opportunity for a wash.
"Ugh, you smell gross! The washroom's outside behind the inn, go get washed before I burn this whole building down! And wear your clothes!" the owner shouts before closing the door.
Clothes? The stranger looks around the room. The wardrobe yielded no results. He opened the second drawer of a shelf next to the bed. He found a plain shirt and a pair of pants. They were definitely too small, but he had no other choice.
The man wears his armor, and heads outside, taking the clothes with him.
The washroom was an outdoor one. There was a water pump, a basin, a soap bar and a stack of towels, all but the towels on a square stone platform surrounded by curtains, which were hanging on rods either welded to each other or embedded in the trunk of the massive tree.
The man takes off the suit and helmet, fills the basin with water and proceeds to wash himself. Water on his body, a sensation he never thought he'd feel again. He'd stopped sweating after getting his powers, the environment never getting hot enough to do so.
The time he washed felt like an eternity, a pleasant one. A moment in time that he didn't want to end as the cool water fell down his body.
He parted the curtains and saw the inn owner in front of him.
It was a strange situation: the woman had seen enough naked men over the years to not get flustered, while the stranger just doesn't get flustered.
"I got you a toothbrush and some toothpaste," she snapped. "Clean your mouth too, your breath stinks!" And with that, she swiftly left the scene.
The man accepted her gift and gingerly brushed his teeth.
Finished, he wiped his body with a towel, and used the towel to wipe the suit and the helmet clean. They were getting a little grimy over the years. And as, at some point in time, a member of the Argenta's Night Sentinels, he really should have been taking more care of his weapon and armor.
He had failed his warrior's pride, as he had his people. He was nothing now.
He took a new towel, wet it, and took it with him inside, as well as the old towel and the armor. He also wore the clothes, which ripped a little trying to fit around his massive body.
He returned to his room, threw the old towel in a basket next to the door, which he was told by the owner to be the laundry basket while he was on his way to wash himself. He took the new towel and started wiping his shotgun while leaving his helmet and suit on and next to the desk to dry.
Was he being too comfortable? He had a duty, a duty he had no way of returning to, currently. He really had nowhere else to go, so he might as well stay here for a while.
"Hey!" he heard the owner shout from behind the door. "Don't forget to broom the first floor and to wipe the tables! You're also washing the dishes, since I'm cooking. I changed the sheets too!"
Huh, she really did. The putrid and rotting scent of sweat and corpses wasn't on the bed anymore. The window was wide open too.
After finishing cleaning his prized weapon, he went downstairs. Only thirty minutes had elapsed since he had woken up. Under the direction of the owner, he broomed the floor and wiped the tables, which were one with the floor.
With his superior speed, it didn't take too long to finish.
As he brushed the dust and dirt outside the door, he gained a few looks from the neighbors, who were only seeing for the first time.
"You an outsider?" the old man from the tree in front of him asked.
"Joel!" the old lady next to him hissed, elbowing him in the ribs.
"Ow!"
"Ask nicely! You over there, are you new here?"
"Like you're doing any better…" the old man muttered.
"Whaddya say?"
"Nothing, missus."
In response to their question, the man nodded, and returned back inside.
"Not much of a talker, eh?" a younger neighbor said to the old man and lady.
"I guess," the old man shrugged.
Back inside the inn, the owner looked around the first floor.
"Hmm… you did a very good job, thank you," she complimented.
The man remained silent, but a quiet but positive aura could be felt emanating from him.
"You should get new clothes though," she suggested, looking at the tight fitting clothes on him. "Like, really. They look like they're about to rip, oh wait, they did. Here's some money, go to the tailor. You'll find it straight to the left."
Taking the coins from her hands, he walked down the grassless path, stopping when he saw Oen's Clothes.
"Welcome," the clothes salesman greeted when the man opened the door. "Oh, you are a big man. People your size would have a hard time finding the right clothes, but have no fear! Our shop has what you need!"
With that, the salesman, judging the stranger's size with a quick guess of the eye, a skill only the more experienced have, stepped from the counter and went round the man, analyzing his musculature and bulk.
The stranger held out the coins the owner had given him.
"Hm…ten silver, huh? I can get your clothes for six!"
Quickly, the salesman sifted through the clothes hanging around the walls. Not finding what he wanted, he disappeared down a corridor behind the counter.
The stranger waited for a few minutes, raising his eyebrow when the salesman ran towards him.
"Try these on," he said, handing the clothing to the stranger. "Dressing room's on the second floor." He pointed to the stairs to the stranger's right.
The man walked up the stairs and saw a row of doors. The second floor was lit up with a light in the middle of the floor, a cool glow washing over all the things in its domain. Despite the fantastic and low-tech setting, this shop seemed to have fluorescent lighting?
"Thank you and have a nice day!" the salesman/shop owner shouted to the man as he left the store.
The stranger looked at the coins in his hand. There were two silver coins sitting on his palm, a little less than the four silver coins that were supposed to remain because the clothes were a little more expensive than the salesman remembered.
On his way back to the Inn, he saw another sign: Dean's Eatery
"Welcome!" a girl greeted, wearing a khaki-colored apron. She seemed to be a waitress. "There is an empty seat over here. Press the bell when you're about to order, please!"
She looked to be in her twenties. Meanwhile, another staff member, a boy who looked to be a little younger than her, though taller and a little muscular, handed him the menu.
With only two silver, the man ordered a regular egg sandwich, the water being free. Despite the cost, it was delicious. The egg was dressed with a tangy mayonnaise-like sauce, and the lettuce fresh and crunchy, and the tomato was oddly but gently sweet. The egg was fried just right, and the whole cacophony of flavor filled his taste buds with a dopamine inducing sensation.
Life was good.
The man returned to the inn, just in time for his other job: washing the dishes and cups the customers used so they can be reused.
It was morning, eight o'clock. Not a lot of people were present, since not many people visit this town. Most, instead, preferred to go to the capital city straightaway. Those who did visit were usually environmentalists or researchers studying the massive trees.
Though the man initially thought about staying for a day, he instead stayed for over a month. Little did he know, things would get hectic during the weeks he would spend in this quiet town, the chaos leading to his return to his Hell.
It was his thirty-second day in town. When he went out, townspeople would wave to him and greet him. The Warrior-turned-wanderer grinned and waved back in return.
While he did still work at the Inn in exchange for his residence, he also did other work when he had time, such as helping hunt animals with his speed and strength, as well as help out carrying things for the women of town, cutting wood with the lumbermen and other little errands. His limitless stamina, superhuman strength, speed and perception was both a source of amazement, wonder, and speculation. In fact, some people thought that he was a former Sage Candidate or a powerful Swordsman, on par with the Heavenly Blade, whatever that was. The inn became more popular as people wanted to meet him, never getting a word out of him however.
Kids were still a little nervous around him, not a surprise considering his scarred hands and face. However, a few did ask for his help with getting things from high places.
He was eventually nicknamed John Hulk by the children, and it stuck.
John became a regular at Dean's Eatery, finding some other delicacies in the menu with the money he earned from his errands. In a little over two weeks, he became a staple of the town, all without uttering a single word. His wordlessness was also a defining feature of his, as well as his gruff and large exterior, and his towering height, the features (unbeknownst to him) earning him the admiration of some of the women in town.
Life was good. Peaceful.
The continuous fresh air greatly revitalized his mind, and he began to grin a little more. Of course, this can't go on forever since he had to return to the nightmare he was trapped in for years. But even for just a little more, he wanted to cherish his experience here, a land without demons, where the air isn't putrid and sulfuric but fresh and cool. Where the river wasn't of lava, but of clean water, fish swimming swiftly in it. He wanted to savor this world.
Just a little more… for one more month, perhaps even a year…
Unfortunately, it all ended sooner than he had hoped.
One day, everyone in town noticed a column of smoke. It was tiny, meaning the source was pretty far away. Probably from the closest town, Rell.
Two hours later, a man burst into the gate, his face filled with fright; tears, spit, and snot dripping on his face.
"They're coming!" he screamed. "They've taken Rell! They've taken Rell! Hide your children! Hide your wives! They're coming for everyone!"
The warning clearly resonated with everyone, and all the townspeople rushed to their homes and started boarding their windows and locking their doors. The messenger was taken to a neighbors house to be treated and hidden behind the boarded windows and locked door.
John's employer, whose name he learned to be Iltra, ushered him inside the inn. John was confused. What was going on?
"Look John," Iltra said in a lowered voice, "you're new here. You haven't been here long enough to know this, but one every few years our town gets raided by a vile group of people called… the Children of Raiza."
She spat out the name with intense hatred.
She explained to John who the Children of Raiza were. Raiza, also named the War God, was a very powerful Sage, living in the capital city some kilometers away. And being so strong, he soon became bored. So, every couple of years, he sends his children out to have their way with the nearby towns in order to generate people who hate him so much that they travel to the capital city to fight him. Of course, none of the challengers come back. He also encourages his children to spread his gene, to generate more powerful people, or have his children join the group and renew and strengthen the vicious and infection cycle of hate.
Listening to the horrors, the atrocities the Children of Raiza committed against the townspeople and the disgusting things they did to the family running Dean's Eatery, he slowly stood up with a dark expression on his face.
"John, you've only been here for a month. Please, leave this town until this all blows over. I'm sure that enough of us will live to welcome you back."
John was taken aback by the request. His eyes widened slightly, surprised by what Iltra had just said.
"Having you here was wonderful for me, the town in general as well. Please, I don't want you to go through what we have to. Even if you kill one of them, there are more. And if their father takes notice, not even you will make it out. Please, I beg you, leave this town, for us and your own sake. Spread your kindness, and remember us."
John reluctantly nodded. He turned and went up the stairs. Opening the door, he looked around one last time, taking in the woody scent of the room and the freshness coming from the blankets.
He picked up the helmet on the desk, swiping his thumb on the Mark. He went over to his suit and put it on, as well as the helmet.
He picked up his shotgun, sliding his finger across the prongs. Not a speck of dust. He inspected the gun, opening and closing the breach and such. All good. He never forgot to check the gun and to clean the barrels and prongs. He checked his inventory: he still had a lot of ammo left in the inventory.
Resting the gun on his shoulder, he walked out of the inn, waving Iltra goodbye before leaving. He then walked to his favorite restaurant and knocked. He had worn his suit in front of everyone once before, so everyone watching him could tell he was leaving.
Orie welcomed him in with a sad smile, Darie gave him the menu, John pointed at the food he wanted, and Orie served it to him. The regular egg sandwich, forever a favorite of his.
"Be careful," Orie said. "Hope that you don't meet them on your way."
He waved the people goodbye and left the shop.
Looking around, he was still amazed by the giant trees the residents lived in, a sight to be forever engraved in his mind.
"Hey, John!"
John turned and saw the clothes shop's door opened, the salesman standing in front of his shop.
"This isn't much, but here." The salesman pushed a bag with something inside it. "It has some clothes for you. Please, just accept it, since this will be the last time you're coming. Surprised? We, as a town, decided, you know. We wanted you to be safe from them. Anyways, safe travels."
The salesman's, Trill's eyes wet, he went back inside and locked the door.
John slung the bag on his back and walked to the gate. He could sense the gazes following him.
Before leaving the gate, opened by the soldiers on the inside, several doors from the trees opened, and the residents gave their last waves to the man who was a part of their community, a bright star in their rather drab and soon horrifying life.
John looked back, went out the gate, and the entrance to the peaceful town closed behind him.
Despite their wishes of him not encountering the Children of Raiza, their meeting was almost immediate.
As he was leaving, he saw a group of people at least a kilometer away. There were at least eleven people, though he couldn't dispense their exact features. They were large, that was for sure. Except for a slender person leading the group. Probably a woman, judging by the body shape and hair.
"Hurry and get out of here!" hissed a guard through the crack in the gate. "Save yourself, John!"
"Good luck!" wished a guard, the first guard he'd met on his first night here.
John walked out of the gate, and the large and thick doors slammed shut with the force of twenty men, plus a ton for each door.
The group in front of him moved closer and closer. Looking at them, he started remembering things. His family, his buddies, his fellow soldiers, his traumas. Those memories overlapped with the smiles of the townspeople, the beautiful trees they carved their homes out of, the regular ham sandwich from Dean's Eatery.
John dropped his bag in front of the gate and stood in front of it, even as the Children of Raiza came closer.
"What are you doing, go!" he heard a soldier whisper from the crack of the doors. It seemed that the shape of John hadn't left the crack.
But John didn't budge.
Ten meters, eight meters, finally three meters.
He saw the men's vulgar smile paired with their muscular and large bodies. They looked like thugs, with their unclean clothes and expressions. Some of them were around his height, only two being taller than him, and the others shorter. If he had his helmet off, they'd probably smell of fresh blood judging by the stained clothes.
The woman in front of them wore glasses, was slender, and attractive by human standards. She was taller than the average woman he saw in town, but he could tell she was evil. Not evil as in brutal, but in a calculatingly cool way, something he could see from her eyes. Her clothes were clean, in contrast to the others. That fact added to the feeling of a hidden evil in her.
"Hey, lookee here!" laughed one of the thugs, the whole group stopping two meters from John. "We got a hero here!"
All the thugs laughed, amused by the fact that someone thought he could stop them, let alone one of them.
The guards behind the gate shouted at him to leave the town.
The woman in front stepped forward, silencing the guards, and said, "You are probably a newcomer to the town, since we have never seen you here. So, here's the deal. If you quietly leave and leave us be, we won't hurt you. But if you refuse, then we will fight you. In other words, leave or die."
A tense atmosphere filled the space between them, the men's smiles widening and growing more grotesque as time passed.
"Come on, Elmoa!" shouted the shortest of the men, impatiently. "Let me have at him!"
The woman known as Elmoa sighed, putting her hand on her forehead. "Alright then. You over there, we gave you your chance! Whatever happens now will be of your own fault."
"Bash his head in, Newbie!" cheered the tallest of the men.
"Paralyze him and make him watch everything and everyone burn!" snickered another of the men.
Newbie was now less than a meter from John.
"This is going to be fun," he grinned. "Not for you, though, heh!"
John grinned from behind his helmet. It's been weeks since his last major fight, and he sure was waiting for this one.
They will soon realize the mistake they'd made.
They will soon realize the reason the devil himself feared and tried to stop him for eons, the reason he was the bogeyman of demons.
They will soon beg for their lives, try to negotiate with snot-dripping faces.
They will know the might of the Doom Slayer very soon.
The Slayer put his shotgun in his inventory and put up his fists.